


Meanwhile, in Ferelden...

by Carmine_Carnation



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Mages (Dragon Age), My First AO3 Post, Near Drowning, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Warnings May Change, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28982118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmine_Carnation/pseuds/Carmine_Carnation
Summary: An eleven circle mage and a Highever nobleman look past their differences, and the two join to unite the torn nation and put an end to the darkspawn blight.  This story... is not about them.  This is about neither Grey Warden, or any hero.  This tale follows a misfit circle mage, the race against his borrowed time, and the whole of his own misadventures during the events of the near-collapse of all Ferelden.





	Meanwhile, in Ferelden...

**Author's Note:**

> Extremely rough drafting still in progress. Will update and adjust appropriate tags/warnings as they are featured.
> 
> Feedback is heavily appreciated as this will be a more experimental work. The adventures of the two wardens and their party will be referenced along this piece’s progression, but are meant for a separate, future elaboration.

It was fire and ice at once in his chest. The world faded darker than the night itself; time had blurred through the panic.  
No one ever said how cold the water would be, the numb ache even as he could finally feel the ground beneath himself again. There was little strength left to do more than drag his tingling body from the shore’s edge. His fingers clenched into the mud for him to feel something solid as both lungs and stomach heaved. For long moments, he did nothing but curl in that spot, coughing and convulsing with the effort and shivers. His throat hurled a watery froth to the earth, quickly washed away as the lake still gently lapped at his arms.

When he could draw breath again, he mustered his reserves to crawl from the bank.  
He only came to his feet shakily, at last. His teeth clenched as he groaned to no onlooker in particular,  
“Andraste’s ffffucking tits...”  
The man eyed his own limbs in surprise, and brought them tight to his body in a vain attempt to stave the chill soaked through his robes. Lights.. he saw the lights ahead of him. A building, but what? He wasn’t dead, but what, then? Now he had come back to his senses, he turned his head round to assess where he suddenly found himself.

It wasn’t the old inn and pub sign that surprised him. It wasn’t the abandoned ember pit and clearing, no. What stuck out most to him was what he *could not* see trace of. No order or chantry sigils, no Templars in cloak or armor. He dared a glance back across those waters. Another cough struck out of him, so he brought his waterlogged sleeve across his face. In midst of gulping down his nausea, the man dared a glance back over the placid waves. Beyond the fog it stood massive and as eerie as he had never seen, but always imagined.. so close, yet blissfully so far, the “nigh impenetrable” tower itself. His lips began to curl up in a wry bend. He pressed his nails into his pale wrists in hand, to wake some of the half feeling in his limbs, and to confirm his senses. 

Just as he could have hollered or fell back to the ground, a sound broke his attention- a door’s swing and the voices of men. Without thought, he staggered to the nearest foliage and ducked swiftly into the stray shrubbery. From them, he saw a lone figure, swayed out from the doorway of the shabby pub, and mumbling in a stupor. He crouched lower when they seemed to face his direction, a tense few seconds before they sauntered off and around the corner. 

A thought ran through the mind of the man hiding, watching the sight, and in a moment it was set on this luck. He creeped as stealthily as his could. He kept low and away from the light, till he saw the stranger ahead now. From behind they appeared just an unassuming man, trousers crooked on the waist. It became immediately obvious this patron was relieving himself against the inn’s back wall. The smell of brandy was notable even from the few meters away the drenched fellow was crouched down. With a sneer, he calmly stood and walked out from the shadows. It took until he was a few feet away for that absent-minded humming to burst into a shout when the drunk noticed his approach,  
“MAker’s breathWhat in the-?!?!”

He moved his hands out at his sides,  
“Oh no, no, finish up there first. I’m just waiting.”

“EhFAck off with yeys rgh, sneakin up on ‘people like that! I ouughtya crack ya right in your skull if you don’t get away!”

“I get you’re having a rough night, but I’m freezing the plums off over here, and in a bit of a bind. Now hold still. Not trying to make a mess.”

In that sudden instant, a thunderous flash cast across the wall lighter than day. In the next, fell again to the quiet and darkness.

The waterlogged man stepped over now, wielding a stick in hand he happened to snag off a low branch. He prodded the body a couple of times with it, and then again with his shoe. Well, seemed that was easy enough; nonetheless, time to waste was in short supply. He hastily stripped himself of his robes and tossed them aside.


End file.
